


Safe Haven

by Kedreeva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Injured!Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can feel in the twitch of Castiel’s fingers, in the way that every now and again he grasps at Dean’s hand like Dean might have gone away, that Castiel is taking comfort in his presence. That he needs the warmth of Dean’s fingers threaded through his, just for a little while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sablewick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sablewick/gifts).



There is a night, between jobs, when Sam is sitting at the little table in their newest motel room, Dean across from him and a pair of beers nestled amongst the clutter of another diner dinner. Dean’s got a hand on his empty bottle, clacking it against the table as he reads through pages of their father’s journal for only the 784th time that week. Sam’s half-full bottle hasn’t been touched in an hour, so absorbed in his research has he been that he has nearly forgotten his drink exists. There are far more interesting things on his mind at the moment, such as what the hell can take a person’s kidneys without leaving a mark on the body.

            When a rush of air and the sound of wings fills the room, neither boy bothers looking up to see Castiel’s arrival until the angel collapses heavily against the back wall. It is the strangled sound of pain that escapes him that has both boys on their feet before they know why, and Dean is halfway across the room while Sam is still processing what just happened.

            A moment later Dean is on his knees beside Castiel, calling his name, and Castiel’s head falls back against the wall. He is filthy, his trench coat smudged with blood and dirt. Dean cannot tell if the blood belongs to Castiel or not, but Cas isn’t responding to his name and there’s panic welling up in Dean’s throat even before Sam starts to move. Dean looks to his brother and Sam gives a little, helpless shrug, because he doesn’t know what they can do for the angel that he wouldn’t have done for himself. He should be better at healing himself than either of the boys could be.

            Turning back, Dean brushes a palm over Castiel’s shoulder, trying to get his attention without jostling him. “Cas, buddy, what _happened_?” he asks, hand slipping gently to the side of Castiel’s face, where he can see there is no damage. It may be the only place.

            Castiel starts at the touch to his skin, flinching as he looks up with wild eyes. He lets out a breath of relief when he sees Dean, his eyes clouding with confusion as Dean says his name again. “Dean…”

            When he begins to clamber to his feet, Dean protests, holds out a steadying arm as Castiel wobbles uncertainly. Dean glances back to Sam, who has already cut open his palm and is busy drawing the angel banishing sigil behind the curtain to the front window. Dean knows the salt will come next, and then a devil’s trap in front of the door, and he wonders when they started worrying more about angels than they did about monsters and demons, but Castiel’s grip tightens on his sleeve and he cannot spare the attention for anything else.

            He supposes he should be thankful that Castiel is able to stay on his feet, no matter how he sways. Confusion is scrawled across his features, like maybe vertical is not what he meant to be and he can’t determine how he got there. Dean draws his focus with a dip of his head, trying to catch Castiel’s wavering gaze.

            “Are you hurt?” Dean insists on asking, because he can’t tell if Castiel is injured or just disoriented and the angel doesn’t appear to be coherent enough to form a complete story. Dean only needs a nod or a shake of his head, but all Castiel manages is to list to one side so hard that Dean has to catch him.

            Sam pauses in laying the salt line across the front door. “Take him to the bathroom and check,” Sam suggests, but Dean has already begun dragging Castiel toward it, grumbling under his breath to Cas about angelporting himself to a hospital next time.

            Though he manages to get Castiel into the bathroom, it’s small and cramped and there’s nowhere to put him that isn’t in Dean’s space, unless he counts the bathtub, which seems more and more likely with every passing second. Castiel very nearly takes the decision from Dean as he begins to nose dive out of Dean’s grasp and Dean’s only saving grace is that every nerve in his body is on high alert with all the adrenaline in his system. He softens Castiel’s descent, giving him a controlled collapse onto the side of the tub.

            From there, Dean is at a loss. There’s so much blood and some of it looks fresh and he’s worried that Castiel is not healing; he’s obviously not healing, not if he can barely keep on his feet. So Dean takes a deep breath and then he dredges up the courage to loosen Castiel’s navy blue tie, slip it over his head and toss it on the sink. Castiel is aware enough to shrug his shoulders out of the trench coat as Dean begins to pull it off.

            Again, Cas wavers, like he’s dizzy, like he can’t be upright, and he slides backwards off the edge of the tub. Dean only just manages to keep his skull from cracking against the back wall of the shower, and it is a worrisome moment before Castiel is curled up on his back in the tub. Dean carefully folds the coat and tucks it behind Castiel’s head because there are no pillows here and he’s bruised and dirty enough already.

            It is a testament to his exhaustion that he makes no move to prevent Dean from unbuttoning his white shirt, peeling it away from the blood-soaked skin beneath while trying not to wonder why the fabric is intact. Everything is sticky and congealing and it looks like Castiel may have gotten into a fight with a lawnmower, if Dean is being honest, but he can see that it’s not fresh. He can see, as well, that the wounds are slowly piecing themselves together, and something within him uncoils.

            He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, because _Cas will be okay_ , he assures himself.

            When he looks up to Castiel’s face, the angel is looking back. His eyes are clearing slowly, but he looks exhausted.

            Shaking his head, Dean relaxes against the side of the tub, ignoring the protest of his knees, his arms hung over the edge, just staring at Castiel staring at him. “What’d you do now, you crazy son of a bitch?” Dean asks him softly.

            A faint smile touches Castiel’s lips. With effort he raises one hand, until his fingers find Dean’s, curl into them like he’s found a life line. Dean watches the rise and fall of his chest a couple of times, labored but steady, and then Castiel takes a breath to speak.

            “Protected you.”

            His head drops back against the folded trench coat just as Sam pokes a glance into the bathroom, giving Dean a questioning look. Dean doesn’t let Castiel’s fingers go, he just looks at Sam and gives a little nod, an indication that Castiel will be okay. Sam doesn’t speak, doesn’t want to disturb them, so he just tilts his head, silently asking his brother if they’re going to be under attack or what.

            Dean shakes his head, because whatever it was, whatever caught Cas - and he’s sure they will find out what it was later - it’s taken care of now. Castiel wouldn’t have come to them trailing danger.

            Nodding his acceptance, Sam looks back to Castiel. He’s done what he can to ward off any danger that may have followed the angel to their doorstep. Now the problem belongs to Dean, because Castiel is Dean’s charge as much as Dean is Castiel’s. Sam raises an eyebrow to his brother, and Dean manages to keep his smile to himself at the question.

            No, Sam does not need to get a separate hotel room for the night.

            Sam just nods and then he is gone, leaving Dean to his newfound task. Dean’s grateful they can have silent conversations, that he and Sam know one another well enough that words are not always necessary no matter what Sam sometimes thinks. For now, Dean is just glad that they don’t have to disturb Castiel to discuss plans.

            Not that there is much that could disturb Castiel at that moment. He lays so still in the tub that if Dean could not feel the pulse of his heart against his fingertips, he might have feared the worst. Instead, he lays his head on his arm, thumb stroking over Castiel’s, and watches Castiel’s flesh knit itself back together. He can feel in the twitch of Castiel’s fingers, in the way that every now and again he grasps at Dean’s hand like Dean might have gone away, that Castiel is taking comfort in his presence. That he needs the warmth of Dean’s fingers threaded through his, just for a little while.

            He isn’t sure how long they stay like that. He knows he drifts off a couple of times, startles awake when he realizes. Sam checks on them several times with sleep rumpled hair and squinty eyes and Dean simply nods to him. He is exhausted by the time the first streaks of grey dawn light sneak through the crack in the bathroom door.

            That is when Castiel finally stirs and Dean can see that the angel is nearly as tired and haggard as Dean, but he smiles and gives Dean’s hand one last squeeze. Dean sits up a little, enough to see that Castiel has managed to heal himself completely, the skin of his chest clean and new. He disentangles their fingers, runs one over Castiel’s ribs, where the skin is still a little red, a little raw, sensitive.

            “Dean…” Castiel says, somewhere between a warning and a plea, a little shiver trembling through him at the contact.

            He stops, withdrawing his hand, and meeting Castiel’s gaze. “You gonna tell me what it was?” Dean murmurs, voice scratchy and rough from not sleeping.

            “No,” Castiel tells him honestly, because there’s no reason to tell him. It’s done, taken care of. Telling Dean would only make him worry.

            “Are you okay?” Dean asks, still not sure, unable to be sure until he hears Castiel say it. Until he can see it in Castiel’s eyes, that he will be all right.

            “I am,” Castiel tells him, and they both know it is the truth. “I will require additional rest, but my injuries have healed. You can stop worrying now, Dean.”

            Dean lets out a sigh that is equal parts chuckle and allows himself to relax. As he unfolds himself from where he’d sat curled beside the tub all night, every joint and muscle begins to make their displeasure known. He is too old to be sleeping on floors or half flopped over tubs, but he can’t bring himself to care. Cas is safe, and that is what matters.

            As he gets to his feet, he hears the front door of the motel room open and the smell of bacon and pancakes is almost overwhelming. He looks to Castiel and then offers his hand. Castiel stares for a moment and then accepts the offer of help; he doesn’t need it, he can stand on his own, but he had learned that this was not always why humans offered a hand up. Sometimes they just needed to help, and there had been precious little Dean could do for him last night.

            When they exit the bathroom, Sam gives them both an uncertain smile that becomes genuine when he sees that Castiel and Dean are both all right. He steps aside to show the open takeout boxes he was arranging on the table, full of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon and hash browns and Dean loves his little brother so freaking much in that moment he barely notices the way his stomach twists itself into a knot with the desire to dive into all the delicious food.

            “I didn’t know what you’d want, so…” Sam says, looking between Dean and Castiel.

            “Thank you, Sam,” Castiel says earnestly. He stands out of the way so that Dean can take a seat, and watches with a hint of confusion as Sam abandons the other chair.

            “I already ate,” Sam explains, skirting around Castiel and heading for the bed on the far side of the room.

            For a moment Castiel stands where he is but Dean is looking at him and at the empty seat and he remembers that it makes Dean nervous when he stands while everyone else is sitting. He slides into the chair across from Dean and leans back, content to observe Dean picking over the food like it had come from Heaven itself. But he’s barely conscious by the end and Castiel knows that he hasn’t slept in more nights than just last night, if he can judge by the time of Dean’s prayers to him. So when he slows in eating, Castiel rises.

            “You require sleep,” he states and Dean looks up at him like maybe he’s spoken in a foreign tongue.

            It is Castiel’s turn to offer his hand, although in this case Dean is close to needing it. He nudges Dean in the right direction, until Dean’s knees hit the edge of the perfectly made bed and that seems to trigger something within Dean because he all but collapses onto the covers, scooting his way up to the pillows until he can mash his face into them without a lot of grace. Castiel keeps his smile to himself.

            “Thank you, Dean,” he says softly and Dean shifts so half his face is out of the pillow and he can look sideways at Castiel. “For keeping me safe. I will return this evening.”

            “No,” Dean tells him, but there’s already a rush of air filling the room, the beat of wings too loud, and Castiel is gone. Dean scowls and looks to Sam, who only shrugs.

            Angels, Dean thinks to himself.

            But when he buries his face into the pillow once more, he smiles, warmth curling up in his chest because Castiel could have chosen anywhere in the world to retreat, to hide, to heal, but he had chosen here. He had chosen Dean.

            _My_ angel, Dean thinks as he drifts off to sleep.

 


End file.
